


closer to fine.

by rtozier (strawbeddie)



Category: IT - Stephen King, IT 2017, it 2019 - Fandom
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Eddie Kaspbrak cries during sex, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Make up sex, Miss me with that sad shit, Post-Break Up, Temporary Amnesia, pennywise who?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 09:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20619092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawbeddie/pseuds/rtozier
Summary: Richie gets his heart broken on a Thursday.





	closer to fine.

**Author's Note:**

> can't believe its been a week since ch 2. reddie stans we okay?  
title from the indigo girls song w/ the same name
> 
> some warnings: drinking/alcohol abuse, self esteem issues, mental health issues, physical violence (not graphic), there's also a nsfw scene @ the end-ish...whew idk where that came from lmao.

Richie gets his heart broken on a Thursday. He can’t even say he’s surprised. Confused, maybe. Definitely dejected. But not surprised. He's always had a hard time holding on to the good things in his life, so why should Eddie be any different? That doesn't make it hurt any less, though.

He wishes he could say it starts out like any other day, but something like dread makes a home somewhere deep in his chest when he's woken up at noon by two text messages from Eddie.

**12:14 - Baby:**  
We need to talk.  
**12:14 - Baby:**  
Can I come over?

Nobody likes a_ "we need to talk"_ text, but cryptic undertones aside_, _since they started dating all those years ago, Eddie has never once asked for permission to come over.

He tries to brush it off. “_It’s probably nothing._” Richie thinks to himself, laughing at his inane ability to jump to the worst possible conclusions, ever. “_There’s plenty of shit he could want to talk to me about in person. Maybe he wants a dog, a little Pomeranian or something cute like him, or maybe he wants to move in together, or maybe he’s ready to take our relationship to the next level, or maybe..._”

Richie sends back a quick “_of course._ _see u soon_” before he forgets, then busies himself with taking a quick shower and making a breakfast smoothie for the two of them.

It's 12:47 when Eddie knocks on his door. Eddie never knocks anymore. Richie gave him a key years ago so that he didn’t have to.

He opens the door warily, stepping back to let Eddie inside. His Eds was wearing a knit cap, and scarf to combat the harsh winds, and Richie was pretty sure that those were mittens on his hands, God his boyfriend was the cutest. “Eds,” Richie greets, going in for a hug and kiss, but Eddie shakes his head, grimacing a little. He steps back to put a little bit of space between himself and Richie.

“Let me start off by saying that I love you.” Eddie mumbles, staring at the carpet.

“Okay?” Richie prompts, confused. His eyes search Eddie’s face. “Eds, come on, my floor isn’t that interesting. Please look at me.”

Eddie does, and his eyes are wet with tears that haven't yet spilled over. ”And I know that you love me,” He continues.

“Yes,” Richie nods emphatically, “more than anything.”

Eddie takes a deep, shuddering breath before soldiering on, “But this isn’t working out anymore. We’re,” He gestures between the two of them “not working out.” He doesn't say much more than that, doesn't try to explain himself. Richie wouldn't have wanted to hear it, anyway. “I’m sorry.”

It's one of the rare occasions that Richie Tozier has nothing to say. He nods slowly, mouth agape, like he _wants_ to speak, but no words will come out.

They spend seconds or minutes, Richie has no idea, just looking at each other. Richie’s eyes were desperate and imploring, Eddie’s, glazed and distant. They're only standing a couple of feet apart but Richie's never felt further away.

Eventually, Richie breaks the silence, gesturing towards his kitchen. “Smoothie?” he offers weakly.

Eddie just looks at him some more. His eyes are sad, but his face is determined. He sighs once, and shakes his head ‘no’ before he turns on his heel and leaves. Richie can only stand there and watch, dumbfounded, as the love of his life walks out of his front door, and out of his life.

”But you love pineapple and spinach.” Richie whispers to the empty room.

He doesn't get a response.

+

Desolation and depression were old friends of Richie’s; in the sense that even if he could find a way to forget about them, ignore them, avoid them all together, all it took was one bad night and they were back in his life with an intensity like they missed him. They were good to him like that.

“ S' good to me. Than' you.” Richie slurs to his empty bedroom. “I missed you guys, too.”

He might’ve had too much to drink. It's been a while since he drank alcohol, and it's just really hard to keep track of how much you've drank when you’re not actually trying to keep track. The only thing Richie knows for sure right now is that he needs a lot more alcohol to make it through the night.

Richie checks his phone for the time, ignoring the unopened text alerts he’s been getting for the last two and a half weeks it’s been since Eddie dumped his ass out of the blue. It reads 1:17am, which means that he has about forty minutes until the dive bar closest to his place starts locking up.

It's a 15 minute walk, but he makes it there in 10.

“Richard.” His bartender (and sorta friend) Monty greets him when he stumbles through the door, limbs awkward and uncoordinated. “This is the fifth time I'm seeing you in as many days... and you look worse every single time I lay eyes on you. Anything you want to talk to me about? I can have this place cleared out in five minutes flat, just say the word.” A couple of people in the bar look up at that, but he pays them no mind.

Richie's touched. If he wasn't so fucking drunk already, he would've sat down and had a heart to heart with Monty about how the man he thought he’d marry someday just up and fucking walked out on him. But alas.

“Monty...Montague...Mont Everest... Mont-pel-er... You know like the capital of Virginia?”

“Vermont, but continue.” Monty corrects playfully, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“You say potato. Anyway, as much as I'd love to wax poetic about the five foot six inch cutie that broke my heart, I'd much rather forget that the last two weeks of my life even happened. What’ve you got for that?”

“Prayers, Richie. Lots and lots of prayers. But in the meantime,” he slides two glasses filled with something brown and strong towards Richie.

+

Had Richie not been such a fuck up, he never would’ve went to the bar that night. Had Richie not been so goddamn stupid, he probably would’ve noticed the group of men lurking in the alleyway across the street early enough to avoid them.

Had the alcohol not effected his judgement and sense of self-preservation, he wouldn’t have felt so tough, he wouldn’t have opened his mouth, he wouldn’t have started that fight.

Had Richie Tozier not been Richie Tozier for once in his life, he wouldn’t be laying on his back in a barely lit alley at 2:30 in the morning with at least a couple of cracked ribs, a possible punctured lung, and a head injury that was bleeding steadily.

Richie doesn't bother calling for help, wouldn’t be able to get the words out anyway.

He can't help thinking that if this is it for him, then there are worse ways to go.

“_Worse than bleeding out in alley surrounded by trash and piss and shit and God knows what else? Richie that's disgusting._” a familiar voice in his head reprimands.

“Chill... Edward...Cullen,” Richie rasps, wincing in pain. It’s the last thing he remembers before the darkness overtook him.

+

Eddie makes the biggest mistake of his life on a Thursday. He never should’ve picked up his phone and texted Richie that morning, stressed off his ass, and mad at the world. He shouldn’t have put on his stupid coat, or got in his stupid car, waited in stupid traffic, to show up at boyfriend’s apartment to break up with him. And for what? Because Eddie was feeling insecure about how Richie felt about him? Because Eddie was worried (for whatever fucking reason) that Richie would get tired of him? He feels so fucking stupid.

People always assumed that Richie was the impulsive one in their relationship, acting before reacting. But Eddie knew firsthand that Richie is, and always has been, more calculated and levelheaded than he could ever dream of being. It took a lot to get Richie riled up, especially since he’d stopped drinking, but Eddie was constantly on a short fuse.

_“Such a little ball of fury, you are.” Richie would tell him, pinching his cheeks. “Not enough room in your body to hold all your anger, Eds. So cute.”_

_“I’m not a little ball of fury and I'm not fucking cute, Richie!” He would yell back. And Richie would just smile at him like Eddie had just proved his point._

Eddie misses him the second he walks out of the door.

He decides to call Bill when he gets to his car.

"Hey Eddie, what's up?" His best friend greets, and the words come pouring out before Eddie has a chance to stop them. He talks until he's out of breath, and then he talks some more. He would've kept talking, too, if—

“I’m sorry,” Bill interrupts, “I must’ve misheard. You did _what_?”

“I broke up with Richie.” Eddie repeats, irritated.

“That son of a bitch—did he hurt you? Do you need me to—” But Eddie nips that one in the bud real quick.

“No, Bill, he didn’t hurt me. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bill’s voice sounds confused, “Then _why_?”

_Because I’m a mess with chronic anxiety and self esteem issues and twenty-four years worth of emotional baggage and Richie deserves so much better than me?_ He thinks but doesn’t say.

“I don’t know, Billy. I really fucked up this time.”

Bill doesn't agree nor disagree with that statement. Instead he says, “It’s okay. You just need to figure yourself out, Eddie. Take some time to think about what you want, that's the most important thing. You have to be your first priority, or you'll never really be happy.”

“How’d you get so smart, huh, Big Bill?” Eddie asks, genuinely grateful that he has such a patient and protective best friend.

“Someone in this group has to be.” He chuckles, and Eddie curses him playfully.

They talk for a little while longer; about school, and work, and Bill’s upcoming date with Stan. After saying their goodbyes, Eddie's surprised to see that he feels a little bit better.

Bill's right; Eddie needs to figure himself out, get his head right. He knows it's gonna take a long time but he owes it to himself (and hopefully, someday again, to Richie) to be the best version of himself.

+

After a couple of days of moping and self-pity, things are starting to look up for Eddie. He isn’t necessarily enjoying “single life” but he's beginning to relish spending time on himself. He even takes a couple of days off from work to focus on his self care. He buys ginger tea and detoxifying face-masks and everything.

It's been two weeks and three days since their break up when a call wakes Eddie up out of a restless sleep.

“What?” he grouses at the unknown heathen who likes to call people at — he squints at his phone screen — 4:16 in the morning.

“Edward Kaspbrak?” A female voice intones.

“Speaking. Who is this?” He asks, immediately more alert.

“Marianne Nelson from Silver Lakes Hospital. There’s been an accident involving a Richard Tozier, and he has you listed as his emergency contact. How soon can you be here?”

+

_Gays can’t drive, my ass_ Eddie thought as he pulls into a parking spot. He makes it to the hospital in record time and barely breaks any traffic laws to get there. _No use to Richie if we both end up in the ER_, he reminds himself.

Let it be known that Eddie Kaspbrak hates hospitals. Has ever since he was a kid. It's 100% due to the fact that his mother made him spend more time in emergency rooms and clinics than he did at school or with his friends.

That’s all behind him, though, at least for the moment, because the only thing on his mind right now is getting to Richie quick as possible. Marianne wouldn’t tell him anything over the phone, so he's completely in the dark, has no idea what kind of condition Richie is in.

“Edward Kaspbrak.” He announces when he reaches the receptionist's desk. “I’m here to see Richie Tozier. He’s my b—” Eddie cuts himself off. “I’m his emergency contact.” After his identification is verified, the receptionist politely gives him directions to Richie’s room.

Eddie doesn't exactly jog there, but it's a close thing.

He’s seen Richie sleeping in the past, countless times, but he's never looked so small before. And so pale. Richie's hooked up to all types of IVs and machines, he has cuts and bruises littering his face, and part of his head is shaved—but despite it all, he still looks very much like the boy that Eddie fell in love with so many years ago. He'd be reminiscing if he weren't so fucking scared.

“You can go in.” Calls a kind voice from behind him. Eddie nods without even looking to see who the voice belongs to, before he steps into the room and shuts the door softly behind him.

Eddie’s heart was going to beat out of his chest. _Is that even possible?_ He thinks hysterically, then laughs a little, completely on edge. _At least I’m in a hospital and they’ll be able to fix me right up. Good as new._

He makes himself as comfortable as possible, folding like a pretzel in the hospital chair. The room has magazines and a TV—for entertainment or distraction, he isn't sure—and there's coffee right outside the door if he needs it, but Eddie isn't planning on leaving any time soon. He stares at Richie’s sleeping face and hopes to God that he's resting well. “I’ll stay with you forever if you’ll let me." Eddie says, barely loud enough to be heard over the ventilators. “I'm so sorry, I won’t ever leave you again.”

He doesn’t get a response.

+

The first time Richie wakes up, he notices the lights. _Too much, too bright,_ he thinks. They make his eyes sting and his head hurt, but he's out again before he can say anything about it.

The second time, Richie's more alert. He hears the steady beeping of machinery, smells the overpowering scent of clean, sterile. He can’t turn his head, though, can’t get his eyes to focus on anything, and before he knows it, they're fluttering shut again without his permission.

The third time Richie wakes up, there are big, brown eyes peering down at him. He recognizes those eyes before he can focus on the face they belong to. _Eddie_. Those heavenly brown eyes blink in surprise before they disappear from his line of sight. Richie vaguely hears yelling, but he can’t make out the words.

Next thing he knew, there're people all around him, nurses and various hospital personnel writing things down, and poking and prodding at him.

“Richard,” a voice that isn’t Eddie’s calls, “You won’t be able to talk just yet, but blink twice if you can hear me.”

Richie blinks twice, confused.

“Good to have you back with us, Richard. Do you know where you are? Blink once for no, twice for yes.”

Richie blinks once.

“You’re in the hospital. I’m Doctor Hasaan. You got pretty banged up the other night, but we’re going to take care of you. You’ve got some broken ribs, a subsequent punctured lung, and a pretty nasty concussion. Do you remember what happened?”

Richie blinks once.

“There was an accident, Richard. A pedestrian found you in an alleyway downtown, and called 911. I’m not surprised you don’t remember any of it, you hit your head pretty hard and your blood alcohol level was high when you were brought in." _And that can't be right, Richie hasn't drank in years._

"Are you in any pain right now?” Dr. Hasaan questions.

It’s almost as if his question brings all of Richie’s sensory neurons back to life, and he's only just began to notice the aching pain in his head, throat, and chest.

Richie blinks twice.

“Alrighty.” The good doctor says, “We’ll give you something to help with that.” One of the nurses puts something in his IV. “Try to rest, Richard. We’ll have that tube out of your throat in no time, and you’ll feel much better once you can breathe properly on your own. Is there anything we can get for you right now? To make you more comfortable?”

_Eddie_, he thinks, _bring him back in_.

Richie tries to blink twice but his eyelids are so heavy, and then, in the blink of an eye, he's asleep again.

+

Richie wakes up with a start. His chest is tight and his throat is on fire and he can’t fucking breathe. He feels like he's drowning. Is he dying? Richie weakly struggles for a minute with the IV in his hand before a soft hand on his arm stops him.

“Richie, calm down.” Comes an angelic voice. He knows that voice. He _loves_ that voice. “You’re panicking, it’s okay, baby.” The angel soothes.

Delicate hands hover around Richie’s face like they want to caress him, but are too afraid. God, what he wouldn’t give to have those hands on his face.

It takes him a second, but Richie is eventually able to come back to himself, focus his eyes on the man standing beside him, focus his ears on the steady beeping and mechanical breathing of the machines surrounding him.

He carefully reaches one trembling hand up to his mouth, onto the uncomfortable tube that was forced down his throat. Eddie gently slaps his hand away from his face.

“Don’t touch it, Richie. Relax, okay? Let me see if I can get your doctor in here.”

A couple of minutes pass before Eddie comes back into the room, smiling widely, while Dr. Hasaan follows a few paces behind him.

“Richard,” greets the doctor when he walks in, “Great news. We’re on pace to get you extubated today. I’m sure that thing must be bothering you, huh? The ventilator’s providing minimal support now, so most of that breathing is all you, kiddo."

Richie gives two shaky thumbs-ups, careful not to jostle the I.V. too much, lest he upset Eddie again.

+

It's got to be the most uncomfortable moment of Richie Tozier’s existence. The process doesn't take more than a minute or two, but there's a lot of choking, gagging, and saliva sucking—and not even in the fun way. Once the tube is out, though, Richie only feels relief. And a little sore.

“It’s all done, Richard, you did great.” The doctor praises, as he discards some tools onto the table beside him. “Hold still now, I’m going to insert an intranasal cannula, just to be safe...”

Richie lets the doctor do doctorly things while he lets his eyes roam around the room. They settle on Eddie, who’s been hovering anxiously on the other side of the bed. He's wearing a too big hoodie and a pair of skinny jeans. His hair is curly and unkempt, so unlike Eddie. His face looks relieved, but his eyes are so tired. _So sweet staying here with me_, Richie thinks.

“Alright. Why don’t you try and say a few words for me? It might be uncomfortable at first, but the more you work at it the easier it’ll get.” Dr. Hassan states reassuringly.

“Just like...the first time...I gave you... sloppy top...right, Eds?” Richie croaks, then he threw a wink in his boyfriend’s direction.

Eddie’s face twists in a strange combination of horrified amusement. He looks like he wants to laugh—or maybe cry—but instead he just purses his lips together and shakes his head. Richie grins back.

The doctor rolls his eyes and asks if Richie felt up to answering a few procedural questions.

"What's your full name?"

"Richard Tozier."

"What year is it?"

"2019."

"Who's the president of the United States?"

"I know...but don't make me say it."

“Excellent, Mr. Tozier," Dr. Hasaan chuckles, "you’re well on your way to health. Your lung and ribs should heal on their own in a couple of weeks, but there's no reason for us to hold you hostage here any longer. Your short term memory should come back to you gradually. You're set to be discharged no later than tomorrow afternoon. Because of the severity of your concussion, however, I'm going to ask that you have another adult at your home to monitor you for 48 hours."

"No problem, doc... I got my... Eddie Spaghetti to take care of me." Richie smiles as wide as he can without his lips cracking due to lack of hydration.

He doesn't notice the way Eddie's eyes shift guiltily to the floor.

+

Eddie might've been driving too cautiously.

"Eds...I know you're worried...but you might actually...be driving in reverse." Richie complains as another car speeds past them.

Eddie ignores him and grips the wheel tighter. _I've hurt you enough already, I can't do that to you again _Eddie thinks. What he says is, "Yeah, and if I speed up and hit a pothole and your stupid ribs slip and puncture your stupid lung again, then you'll be mad at me."

Richie laughs, but it's bitten off like it hurt him, and Eddie winces. "My Eds...always...so damn dramatic."

They spend the rest of the car ride in relative silence, save for the quiet humming of the radio, and Richie's occasional labored breathing.

"Oh, fuck." Richie voices miserably when they arrive at his complex.

"What?" Eddie asks, worried. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm okay, Eds." Richie reassures, "I just remembered...that I live on the third floor."

_Oh, fuck._

"I'm not carrying you up three flights of stairs because your landlord is too cheap to get the elevator fixed." Eddie says, mostly serious.

"You couldn't...carry me up those stairs...to save both of our lives...Spaghetti head." Richie jokes, "Come on...little man...we've got some...climbing to do."

+

Eddie might not've had asthma when he was younger, but it sure as fuck felt like he did now.

Carrying their bags and about 30% of Richie's body weight feels like a workout, but he feels guilty almost instantaneously when he hears Richie struggling to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry, baby." Eddie says, forgetting himself for a moment. He rubs his hands up and down Richie's back soothingly. "You okay?"

"Fine, Eds. Let's keep...going."

They make their way down the hall to Richie's door, where Eddie reaches under the "did you call first?" welcome mat to retrieve the spare key Richie keeps hidden there.

"Where's yours at...Eds? Need me to...get a new one made?" Richie asks, gesturing to the spare key in his hand, and Eddie blanches.

"No? No, I just left mine at my place. I'm an idiot." He lies, and Richie just looks at him kind of odd.

"That you are...Spaghetti Head."

Once they're inside, Eddie helps Richie settle comfortably onto the couch, before going to Richie's bedroom to drop off his bag.

"Bring me...my heating pad, please, Eds?" Richie calls with some difficulty.

"Yeah, sure, Rich!" Eddie calls back, but when he steps into Richie's bedroom, his heart hits the floor.

Now, Richie isn't the tidiest person alive, so Eddie's used to picking up after him a bit; sometimes folding his laundry, but it's never been like this before. There are empty bottles of alcohol littering his floor, half-empty food containers left open, clothes thrown haphazardly over almost every surface. This, Eddie knows, is what depression looks like for Richie. This is what it looks like when he's given up.

"I did this." He gasps quietly to himself, looking around the room in horror. "I did this."

"Eds?" Comes Richie's worried voice from his position on the couch. "You get lost?"

"Just gimme a minute, Richie!" He snaps, way harsher than he intends. Then much softer, "I'm sorry, babe, please just give me a minute, okay?"

Richie doesn't say anything else, and Eddie pulls himself together long enough to go to the supply closet and retrieve Richie's heating pad.

He hands it to Richie wordlessly, and Richie mutters a quiet "thanks". He looks at Eddie like he's a puzzle to be solved, and Eddie can't take it.

"What do you remember from before?' He asks, avoiding Richie's questioning eyes.

"From when?"

"What's the last thing you remember, Rich? Not... not in the hospital, but before that. What's the last memory you have of--of us together?" 

There's a pause, and Eddie can see the gears working in Richie's head.

"Oh, I don't...I can't...um...I don't? The movies?" Richie tries. "We went to see that scary movie you wanted to see. The one...with the clowns." He looks so proud of himself, and Eddie's heart just shatters.

+

Richie's used to his boyfriend being weird; and usually he loves it, but there's something about the way Eddie's been acting since they left the hospital that has his hackles raised.

"Am I...missing something, Eds?" _Other than the obvious,_ he doesn't add, "What's the matter?" 

Eddie still looks crestfallen when he answers. "That was over three weeks ago, Rich."

"Yeah?" He asks, and Eddie nods miserably. "Holy fuck. I mean...we knew that there were...holes in my memory. Doc said...things'll come back on their own." He tries to sound reassuring, but Eddie's still frowning hard.

"Yeah, I know but...that's not...it's just that, um, I don't really, um, and—"

"Woah, dude, are you...having a stroke?" Richie interrupts, and Eddie puts his head in his hands and sighs.

"God, shut the fuck up, Richie, this is really hard."

Richie bites his tongue. "What's hard, baby? What's got you...so upset? Eds...whatever it is...it's okay. Talk to me."

"It's us, I mean, you and me, we're um," a pause, "we'renottogetheranymore." He finishes quickly.

_That's a silly thing to say_, Richie thinks. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Eddie starts, "that you and I aren't together anymore. We're broken up."

The sharp pain in Richie's chest has nothing to do with his broken ribs.

"I broke up with you?" He asks dejectedly, "Eds, I'm—" but Eddie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

"No, Richie, I broke up with you."

And there it is. Richie feels it like a punch to the solar plexus. Thats why Eddie's been acting so strange, keeping something like this from him.

"I don't...why?" He demands, chest aching to keep up with the heavy pounding of his heart.

"It doesn't matter, I should've never done it, I'm sorry—"

"It fucking matters!" Richie explodes. With great difficulty, he stands up off of the couch—wincing in pain during the process—so that he's looming over Eddie. "It matters." He tries again.

Eddie just stares up at him from his spot on the sofa. He shakes his head 'no', like he's resolved on keeping his mouth shut, and the anger is drained from Richie as quickly as it came. 

"Why are you...here, Eddie?" He asks, exhaustedly. Just Eddie this time. Not_ Eds_, not _baby_, just Eddie.

"Because you're hurt, and I need to make sure you're okay, and I—"

"Let me...guess. You feel...guilty?" Richie laughs mirthlessly. "Get out."

"No, Rich, c'mon, I'm here to help you." 

"Just, go, Eddie. I'm going to go...take a very careful shower...and by the time...I get out...I want you...out of here."

"Rich—"

"Out, Eddie."

He walks carefully to the bathroom without waiting for a response.

+

Eddie doesn't leave. _Fuck that,_ he thinks. Instead, he takes on the harrowing task of cleaning Richie's bedroom which he's labeled "The Depression Den" in his head. He starts with the clothes: grabbing piles and piles from the floor and Richie's bed and discarding them into their respective hampers. Once he's done with that, he takes care of the disposable trash; putting everything into bags that'll need to be tossed sooner rather than later. Lastly, he works on the beer cans, and liquor pints that are scattered all around the room. God, Richie must've really been on a bender. Eddie swallows his guilt for the time being and gets to working on separating glass from aluminum to recycle.

The shower's still running by the time Richie's room looks presentable. Eddie carefully, quietly places his ear up to the door. He can hear Richie humming softly and takes that as a sign that he's okay in there. 

He makes his way to the kitchen to rummage through Richie's cabinets, trying to find something to cook for them, but Richie's cupboards and refrigerator are bare and depressing looking.

_Take out doesn't sound so bad_, Eddie thinks.

+

He's just getting off the phone with the Thai place when Richie comes into the living room

"You're still here." Richie croaks. His skin is still pink from his shower, and he's wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of Spiderman boxers. He's still a head taller than Eddie, but he looks so small, so young.

"Yeah, Rich, I know you're upset, and I understand its a lot, and I'm s—"

"You're still here...you didn't leave." Richie's voice cracks. "You didn't leave me." He takes a hesitant step towards Eddie, expression vulnerable. And oh, fuck, if Richie starts crying its going to set Eddie off too.

"I promised you I wouldn't." At Richie's confused glance, he elaborates. "When I got the call that you were in the hospital, I was so scared. They wouldn't tell me anything and I-I thought the worst. I thought I'd lost you. But then I went to your room, and you were sleeping. You were cut up and bruised," He eyes the healing bruises across Richie's face, desperately wanting to reach out and touch him "but you were alive. And I thought to myself 'I walked away from the best thing in my life, because I was scared.' Truth is, I didn't know what scared was until I saw you lying there, so still...so pale, machines breathing for you. So that night, I promised myself _and you_ that as long as you'll have me, I'll be here. I won't ever leave you again. As long as I'm welcome in your home, and...and in your life, I'll—"

"Stay."

"What?" Eddie asks, eyes wide.

"Please...even if it's just for tonight...just, stay."

So Eddie does.

+

Richie does a lot of healing over the next couple of weeks. None of it is easy, but that's to be expected. He gets short tempered, and emotional as his memory clears, which the doctor tells Eddie is a "completely normal response to being concussed," but Eddie thinks it's more than that. Richie slowly begins to ease himself back into daily activities like driving, and grocery shopping for himself, relying on Eddie less and less with each passing day.

Eddie tries not to let that worry him.

It's a fair question, and one that needed to be asked, but it still makes Eddie choke on his coffee when Richie asks "So, why did you break up with me?" one day when they're sitting on the couch, watching TV with the volume down low.

"Um, Richie, I-" Eddie starts, then stops.

"Yeah?" Richie raises his eyebrows expectantly, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips.

Eddie sighs. He owes Richie an explanation, he owes him the truth. "I was scared." Okay...so...baby steps.

"Of...?" Richie prompts, impatient now.

"You leaving me? I know it's so stupid, now, but at the time I thought you would get sick of me, and you didn't l—" he cuts himself off but its too late.

He doesn't miss the way Richie inhales sharply, and flinches like Eddie just slapped him.

"You thought I didn't love you?" Richie sounds so lost.

"No! I mean, yes, but no! I know that you loved me, remember? I told you that, and I _knew_ it, it's just that, with my anxiety and everything, uh, it's like my head...was playing tricks on my heart and I had to leave, because if you left me I wouldn't be able to take it. And I know that's not an excuse, and I don't mean for it to be. I just, I never meant to hurt you, I swear. If I could take every word back, I would. I never- I'm so sorry."

"You're so fucking stupid." Is all Richie says, then louder, "_God_, you're so fucking stupid!"

That's fair, Eddie thinks.

Richie puts his hands on Eddie's shoulders, lowering his head until they're eye level. "I have never. Ever." He punctuates each word with a gentle shake to Eddie's shoulders, "Loved anyone the way that I love you. Not even close."

"Richie, I'm so-" _Wait._ "Love?"

"Yes!" Richie cries, exasperated. "Love, dummy. I love you! I never stopped loving you. Even when I was drowning myself in a bottle," It's Eddie's turn to feel like he just got slapped. "All I could think about was you. _You,_ Eds. You're it for me, I think."

Eddie freezes, feels the tears well in his eyes before he can do anything about it. "You called me Eds." He cries, tearfully.

Richie grins in triumph. "I knew you fucking liked my nicknames!"

+

"God, I missed this." Richie moans in between kisses. He's got Eddie pinned down on his bed, breathless and panting beneath him.

"Richie, please." Eddie whimpers.

"Please what, baby?" He teases. "You want something from me, you ask for it."

Eddie squirms underneath him, dick already hard and leaking. "Please fuck me. Need it, need you." And Richie groans, grinding his hips down hard, eliciting a shaky moan from Eddie.

"Mmm, not yet, baby. Gonna take care of you. I'm gonna worship every inch of you."

Richie takes his time taking Eddie apart, finding all the spots that drive him crazy, and playing with them until Eddie's a writhing mess underneath him.

"Alright, Eds. Face down, ass up. C'mon chop, chop."

Eddie opens his mouth like he's about to retort—probably to tell Richie to stop ruining the mood or something—before he thinks better of it. He does as he's told, stripping down completely naked before laying face down on the mattress.

Richie hums in approval, kisses his way down Eddie's shoulders, along his spine, feels the tremors that are coursing through him.

"Please, Richie, I need more" Eddie whines, rocking his hips back.

"I know what you need, Eds. Let me give it to you, okay? Gonna make you come so hard. On my tongue and fingers, then on my dick, okay? You just gotta take it." He says it casually, like he's discussing the weather, and not taking Eddie apart piece by piece.

Eddie just whines again, and Richie smirks before he flattens his tongue, licking over Eddie in broad strokes before pressing his tongue inside. Eddie nearly shouts, hole fluttering around Richie's tongue.

There's nothing particularly romantic about the way Richie eats him out. It's wet, and sloppy, and Richie's got spit dripping down his chin as he licks into Eddie until Eddie's trembling at the intensity of it.

When Eddie's whines start getting high and needy, Richie takes pity on him, adding a finger in alongside his tongue, and Eddie groans appreciatively, fucking himself back onto Richie until he adds another.

When Richie crooks his fingers purposefully, searching out Eddie’s prostate, Eddie whimpers pitifully and tries to shift away.  
  
“Richie, please…” he begs, but Richie just pulls his mouth away and shushes him, keeping his fingers deep inside.

Richie knows Eddie simultaneously loves and hates getting his prostate fucked. Hates how vulnerable it makes him feel, how it leaves him shaking and non-verbal, even after he's come. Loves it for the exact same reasons.

“Relax, baby,” Richie soothes, placing a comforting hand on Eddie’s hip. "I got you."

Eddie forces himself to relax, and soon enough, he’s whining and sobbing, fingers twisting the sheets, begging Richie for more.

"Good boy." Richie praises.  
  
He’s careful when he does this, not exactly gentle, but he doesn’t want to go too fast or hard and overwhelm Eddie, so he keeps his strokes long and purposeful, fingers brushing expertly over Eddie’s prostate.  
  
Eddie's hips keep shifting, like he’s not sure if he wants to get away from the sensation or get more of it, so Richie tightens his hand on Eddie's hip, effectively stilling him.

He keeps up his methodical torture for minutes, or hours, or days, before Eddie's granted any reprieve.  
  
Even if it weren’t for the almost hysterical whines Eddie’s emitting, the way that he’s clenching around Richie’s fingers, shaking like a leaf, would be enough to alert Richie that he’s close.  
  
He keeps Eddie hanging there on the verge of orgasm for a long time, drawing it out of him slowly, so slowly, with precise fingers pressing rhythmically against Eddie’s prostate.  
  
“Touch yourself, baby, you’re doing so good, make yourself come.” Richie urges, using his free hand to massage Eddie’s perineum when Eddie brings a shaking hand to his own leaking dick.  
  
It’s over pretty quickly after that.

Eddie’s uncharacteristically quiet when he comes, and Richie would be worried if not for the way Eddie’s muscles had locked up so tight before he started trembling something fierce.

Eddie had stayed like that for a few long moments, could do nothing but shake and gasp as his orgasm worked through him in a way that looked almost painful.

When it's over, Eddie drops like a stone onto the mattress, still trembling. Richie's quick to gather him in his arms, rearranging them as best he could so that Richie was against the headboard and Eddie’s head was resting on his chest. That's when he notices the tears tracks running down Eddie's cheeks as the man in question struggles to catch his breath.  
  
He runs soothing fingers through Eddie’s hair, waits for him to come back to himself.

"Oh my God," Eddie whispers, moments later, once his soul is back in his body.

"Okay, baby?" Richie asks, genuinely concerned, as he wipes at the tears staining his boyfriend's face.

"More than," Eddie gasps, "It's just a lot."

"Hmmm." Richie hums in agreement. He gives Eddie a couple more minutes to recover before he rearranges them again. This time, with Eddie on his back, legs spread wide around Richie's hips. "I'm not done with you yet."

Eddie looks up at him, eyes wide, and Richie grins. "Told you I was gonna make you come on my dick tonight. You want that, baby?"

Eddie nods enthusiastically, then gasps in shock when he feels Richie's open palm connect with his cheek.

"Use your words, Eddie. You want my dick, then beg me for it."

"Please, Richie, oh my God, please I want your dick, please give it to me, I need it." Eddie's shameless now, past the point of caring what comes out of his mouth.

"That's good, baby. I'll give it to you." Richie says, reaching into his nightstand for the box of condoms they never use anymore.

"Rich...what? Why?" Eddie asks, dubiously eyeing the box in his hand.

"Eds..I..if there was any-" But Eddie cuts him off, head clearer than it's been since they started.

"There was no one else, Rich, I swear, I didn't. You're it for me, too."

"Yeah?" Richie asks, tossing the box somewhere in the corner of his room, smiling down at Eddie.

"Yeah, stupid." Eddie promises, and Richie just has to kiss the grin off his lips.

-

Richie takes his time pushing in, making sure Eddie feels every inch of him until he bottoms out, hips flush against Eddie.

"Gonna make sure you feel how deep my love goes, baby. Never gonna have to worry again." Richie promises.

"Oh, my God." Eddie whimpers, eyes rolling back as Richie starts to fuck into him slowly. 

It's so good, too good, and it's not long before Eddie's hard again. Richie takes notice and doubles his efforts, going from thrusting into Eddie to grinding their hips together, dick a constant pressure against Eddie's prostate. It's too much, too fast, and Eddie damn nears screams.

"Feel good, baby?"

Eddie doesn't respond. Just keeps making these little "ah, ah, ah" sounds like he's about to sneeze. "Oh, fuck, Richie, how are you doing this to me?" 

He's crying for real now, taking big, sobbing breaths as his hands frantically grip the pillows, the bedsheets, the headboard, his own hair, _anything_ he can to ground himself against the pleasure that's threatening to overwhelm him completely.

"Don't do that, baby, you'll rip your hair out." Richie chides, dropping to his elbows so that he can detangle Eddie's hands from his hair, and twine their fingers together.

He never once breaks stride, going back to fucking into Eddie deep and slow, each thrust bringing Eddie closer and closer to that point of no return.

And surely Eddie's going to explode. Surely, the human body isn't meant to withstand this kind of pleasure.

"You're so fucking good, Eds." Richie's pace is starting to get falter, tell-tale sign that he's close. "Gonna come for me again?"

Eddie nods senselessly, beyond words. He's pretty sure he's drooling.

"Then do it, Eds. C'mon." And Eddie's right there, so close to the edge, back arching completely off the bed as Richie takes him higher and higher and—

"That's it, baby, you're right there, God, I love you so much, Eddie."

"Say it again." Eddie gasps, fresh tears spilling over.

"I love you." Richie repeats.

"Again."

"I love you."

"Again, again, again!" Eddie shouts as he starts to come, untouched, across his and Richie's bellies.

"I love you, I love you so much, baby." Richie groans, and tumbles over the edge right alongside of him.

+

Eddie's nervous as Richie drives them to the restaurant; some overpriced Italian place that Mike wants them to meet at. It's not like he and Richie were avoiding the Losers; they still talked on the phone a couple of times a week, but in the light of recent events they had, admittedly, been spending a lot more time with each other. It's been the best and happiest weeks of Eddie's life, and that makes his decision ten times easier.

Months ago, Bill told Eddie to take some time to think about what he wanted.

He picked out a ring that very same day. 

What he _wants_ is Richie, always and forever. He's known that for most of his life.

He just hopes that Richie feels the same way.

+

The ring is heavy in Richie's back pocket as he and Eddie walk into the restaurant that Mike picked out. The rest of the Losers are already there, talking animatedly amongst each other. The conversation stops when they get to the table.

"Well I'll be damned." Mike says, like he didn't expect them to actually show up, he's grinning though, and Richie smiles back.

"Richie Tozier, back from the dead!" Bev exclaims, jumping out of her seat to hug him. He squeezes her tight, lifting her off her feet as he twirls her around. She laughs brightly, and it hits Richie like a brick to the face how much he loves this group of people. How, since they were kids, their little group of outcasts has been his one constant. Something he could always run to.

Bill and Stan smile at him knowingly, and he winks back.

Richie's always had a hard time holding on to the good things in his life, but as he looks around the table at all of his friends, at the man he hopes says _yes_ tonight, Richie finds himself smiling at the realization that he's there's no way he could ever let this go.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, this is my first new fic in like a year? its been hard getting back into writing but hopefully I can write more soon. comments / critiques are so appreciated!  
feel free to follow me  
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